"Wilkie Collins - The Law and the Lady" - читать интересную книгу автора (Collins Wilkie)

adorned themselves, being in subjection unto their own husbands; even as Sarah
obeyed Abraham, calling him lord; whose daughters ye are as long as ye do well,
and are not afraid with any amazement."
Concluding the Marriage Service of the Church of England in those well-known
words, my uncle Starkweather shut up his book, and looked at me across the altar
rails with a hearty expression of interest on his broad, red face. At the same
time my aunt, Mrs. Starkweather, standing by my side, tapped me smartly on the
shoulder, and said,
"Valeria, you are married!"
Where were my thoughts? What had become of my attention? I was too bewildered to
know. I started and looked at my new husband. He seemed to be almost as much
bewildered as I was. The same thought had, as I believe, occurred to us both at
the same moment. Was it really possible--in spite of his mother's opposition to
our marriage--that we were Man and Wife? My aunt Starkweather settled the
question by a second tap on my shoulder.
"Take his arm!" she whispered, in the tone of a woman who had lost all patience
with me.
I took his arm.
"Follow your uncle."
Holding fast by my husband's arm, I followed my uncle and the curate who had
assisted him at the marriage.
The two clergymen led us into the vestry. The church was in one of the dreary
quarters of London, situated between the City and the West End; the day was
dull; the atmosphere was heavy and damp. We were a melancholy little wedding
party, worthy of the dreary neighborhood and the dull day. No relatives or
friends of my husband's were present; his family, as I have already hinted,
disapproved of his marriage. Except my uncle and my aunt, no other relations
appeared on my side. I had lost both my parents, and I had but few friends. My
dear father's faithful old clerk, Benjamin, attended the wedding to "give me
away," as the phrase is. He had known me from a child, and, in my forlorn
position, he was as good as a father to me.
The last ceremony left to be performed was, as usual, the signing of the
marriage register. In the confusion of the moment (and in the absence of any
information to guide me) I committed a mistake--ominous, in my aunt
Starkweather's opinion, of evil to come. I signed my married instead of my
maiden name.
"What!" cried my uncle, in his loudest and cheeriest tones, "you have forgotten
your own name already? Well, well! let us hope you will never repent parting
with it so readily. Try again, Valeria--try again."
With trembling fingers I struck the pen through my first effort, and wrote my
maiden name, very badly indeed, as follows:



Valeria Brinton



When it came to my husband's turn I noticed, with surprise, that his hand
trembled too, and that he produced a very poor specimen of his customary